Beggars May Ride
by MsCogsworthy
Summary: As war sweeps across Middle Earth, a young girl is caught between nations and races.
1. Chapter One

I grew up in a small village close to the foot of the Misty Mountains just outside the great forest of Mirkwood. My father was a Lakeman originally, but he left the water to please my mother, who always said she couldn't abide a man who stank of fish. She was a high-born lady, a real lady, from the great city of Osgiliath. People in the village said she'd run away from her father because he wanted her to marry a Dwarf. Papa said that was foolishness, but he never told us how a real lady like her ended up married to a brewer. I think that Mama came close to telling me about how she met Papa once, but he shushed her, just like a child. I remember the look on his face though, and I've never seen him look so fierce since. 

Mama was beautiful and smart, not anything like the other women in the village. She had blonde hair and blue eyes and knew how to embroider and dance and make her name on paper. She even wrote letters for Papa, copying the wording out of a little book she kept on her desk. She used to let me play with her pens and paper scraps, as long as I sat still for lessons and didn't smudge up my clothing. She taught me how to read and write a fine hand and keep the numbers and speak a bit of Sindarin in case I ever met an Elf.

My Gram always said that no good would ever come of teaching a girl to read and write. She said that the stories in those books would spoil me for living in the village, that my head would be all filled up with adventure and romance so that I'd never be able to find a good husband. She said it was bad enough that I had strange reddish-brown hair and green eyes that no one could explain, without adding too much book-learning on top of it all. Mama didn't care though, and she told Gram that she wouldn't see any daughter of hers taken advantage of by words she couldn't read. 

"Besides," she used to say, "my Merowyn won't marry just any boy from the village. She has a bigger life ahead of her than selling fish or cloth in the market. She'll be somebody." 

Papa didn't care if I learned to read or write or say my histories. He taught me how to ride a horse and fight with the boys so they wouldn't pick on me so much. He took me hunting with him, at least until my little brothers were old enough to go, and sometimes he let me shoot squirrels with his short bow. Gram didn't like that either, so I had to learn to sew and cook like the other girls.

The older I got, the more Gram worried about me. I didn't have many friends--the boys said I was funny-looking and stuck-up, and the girls thought I wanted to be a boy. I didn't think I could help it if I was thinner and paler than the other girls; it certainly wasn't my fault that my eyes were shaped funny and my ears were a little strange. The other children disagreed, so I kept to myself, mostly, except for the fat little pony Papa let me ride. When I was fourteen, one of the village boys beat me up for trying to join them at hunting; his father thrashed him for picking on a girl, but I think it was more for show than from any real anger. If anything, he was ashamed that a tiny little slip like me managed to bloody his boy's nose. Gram took me aside and told me it was time to put away my hunting gear and try to be a proper girl.

I couldn't do it though. I hated sitting inside and sewing little frilly things and keeping my dresses clean. I kept sticking myself with the needle and bleeding everywhere, or cutting my hand on the sewing shears. Papa was afraid I'd cut off a finger next, so the next year he fostered me out to one of the innkeepers he sold beer to, even though at fifteen I was too old for fostering. That didn't take either; the third time I dropped a tankard of ale in a customer's lap, the innkeeper sent me home. It didn't make any nevermind to him that the fellow had pinched my rear and said filthy things to me.

Mama had a plan, though. She wanted to send me to the city, to Osgiliath. She said I was too smart to waste on farming or hosteling. She wanted me to learn fine manners and study with a real teacher and maybe become a lady's maid or a governess in a great house. Papa argued with her; I'd never seen him yell at her before, but he swore left and right that he wouldn't let me go. She kept at him though, pestering and pleading and wheedling until I guess he just got tired and gave in. Nobody asked me what I wanted.

The night before I left, Mama came to my room to talk to me. She had a little box in her hand, one that I had seen on her dressing table but wasn't allowed to touch. She sat on my bed and rubbed my shoulders like she did when I was little.

"Daughter, I know you're scared. You've never been to a city before, but you'll love it soon enough. There's so much to do in a city, so much to see and learn that you'll never see here."

She set the box on the bed and opened the lid. She took out a bracelet, a silver tree and star bracelet that was nicer than anything I'd ever seen her wear. She slipped it over my hand onto my wrist and then just sat there, looking at it. 

  
  


"This belonged to a great lady, Merowyn. She was strong and brave, like you. She died, not long ago, but her husband has offered to foster you in his house. He can offer you so much, my heart. You will be able to study and read as much as you want, and I daresay he'll make sure you get to fight and ride as well. Be polite, and remember that you're just as smart as anyone else."

She hugged me tight, and I realized she was trying not to cry. I'd never seen my mother cry before, and somehow that was scarier to me than leaving home. I didn't understand why she wanted to send me somewhere that made her cry just thinking about it.


	2. Chapter Two

I left early the next morning, before the sun rose. Papa had paid a Ranger to meet me at the village inn and take me to the Great East Road where it crossed the river; he told me that I was to join a group of merchants traveling south from the Last Bridge. At first I thought he meant me to walk, or ride behind my guide; I didn't know what to say when he led his own sturdy grey mare out of the stables and handed the reins to me. 

"She's yours now, daughter. Take care of her, and she'll always be loyal." He studied me for a long moment, then boosted me up into the saddle. He held onto my hand for a few moments before going back into the house and closing the door.

I urged the mare through the quiet streets toward the inn. Here and there I saw faces peeking out at me from behind curtains and between shutters. No one came out to wish me safe journey, or to say goodbye, not that I expected them to.

The Ranger waited for me outside the inn. He was adjusting his packs when I rode up, fastening the bags securely to the saddle and settling the load as evenly as possible. He half-turned at the sound of my horse's hooves on the dirt road and eyed me over his shoulder. I suddenly felt uncomfortable in my patched brown dress and worn-thin green hood. I curled my toes, trying to hide the scuffed leather toes of my boots. His mouth twitched slightly at the movement.

"So you're to be my fare, are you? Well, at least you can ride. The last lady I escorted went faint at the sight of a horse and insisted on a coach and driver." 

I couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed by me. I sat, silent and still, until he was ready to leave. He spoke once or twice more, some comments on the weather and the road, but I was too nervous to chat with him and he eventually gave up. I watched him finish his preparations, trying to figure out anything I could about him.

He was taller than me, not that that was difficult, with broad shoulders and strong-looking hands that wouldn't be out of place on one of the local drovers. His hair was dark brown, about the shade of my old pony's coat, and his eyes were a peculiar shade of brown-green that seemed to change slightly in the early light. I wondered how old he was; he seemed older than the boys I knew and was probably younger than my father, but that left too many possibilities to figure out. He swung up into the saddle at last, an easy movement that wasted little motion or energy, and gestured for me to follow him out of the town.

~***~

I'd traveled a little with my father, on to the next settlement to sell ale or buy chickens or some such. I was not in any way prepared for the next few hours. We rode steadily along the Old Forest Road until we reached the edges of Mirkwood; we stopped just inside the treeline to camp for the night. Every muscle in my body was screaming and raw; I felt like I'd been beaten with a stick and left to die. I barely realized that we were stopping, I was so exhausted. 

The Ranger swung out of his saddle in the same smooth motion he had used to mount that morning. Blearily, I watched him strip his horse and start to rub it down. When I didn't dismount, he reached for my horse's reins.

"We're stopping for the night. You might as well get down, stretch your legs a bit."

I stared down at him while his words registered in my mind. I slowly hefted one leg over the saddle. The foot still in the stirrup had fallen asleep without my notice and, as I lowered myself toward the ground, it collapsed and I tumbled off the horse. The Ranger caught me, carefully setting me on the ground. I winced as my muscles stretched in directions they had forgotten they could move in, and he chuckled under his breath.

"Don't worry. You'll remember how to walk soon enough. Just sit there and rest and I'll take care of your horse." He stripped the mare with the same efficiency he had used on his own horse, rummaging around in the packs for her combs and brushing her down.

"What's her name?" I blinked at the sound of his voice and stared at him, puzzled. He repeated himself.

"I don't know. I don't think my father ever called her anything but 'girl.'" 

  
  


"That's too bad. All things should have a name." He brushed her a while longer. "You should call her Gwenn."

I blinked again. "That's an odd name. It's not Westron, is it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's Elvish. I learned it from another Ranger-he has dealings with the Elves."

"What does it mean?" His mention of Elvish had piqued my interest despite my tiredness.

"It's the Grey Elves' word for girl. Since your father called her that." He smiled, more to himself than to me, and continued brushing the mare. I thought for a long time.

"You're right. She does need a name, and Gwenn seems to suit her." I watched him tether the horses to graze and rummage around in his packs again, this time for cookware. Once he had the fire laid and a pot of water boiling, he sat back on his heels and regarded me closely. I squirmed under his eyes for the second time that day, blushing for no reason I could put my finger on. He chuckled again and dug a packet of tea out of his bag.

"Speaking of names, lady-- did your father name you, or does he just call you daughter?" He smiled at himself again.

"I have a name. Do you?" I didn't intend to sound so angry when I said that and I just hated hearing the same voice I had always used when the village boys picked on me coming out of my mouth. I looked away, my face hot with shame.

He burst out laughing, a rich, ringing sound that filled my ears. "Fair enough."

He poured the now-hot tea into a thick pottery mug he dug out of his bag. He handed one to me, waited until my stiff fingers could grasp it securely, then settled back on his heels again.

"Most people just call me Shadow. That'll do, I suppose." He half-smiled at me, a slight twitch of amusement at the corners of his eyes. "And you, lady? Shall we make this a fair exchange?"

"I don't have a very interesting name, I'm afraid. Nothing like yours. My mother named me Merowyn, and you're right again-my father usually just called me daughter." I smiled at the memory, a small comfort. We sat for a while; he produced an assortment of vegetables and dried meats from his pack and started a stew that made my mouth water just looking at it. While it cooked, he starting talking.

"You've not traveled before, have you Merowyn? You can ride, but you don't sit your horse like you would if you were used to it." When I shook my head, he went on. "I'd be willing to bet the price of your journey you haven't been more than, what, maybe a few miles from your village in your life? So why is it your parents suddenly decided to pack you off to the city? Marriage or service?"

I blushed again, this time with anger. "I'm not getting married, and I'm not a maid. I'm going to be fostered, to study."

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. "You're too old for fostering, surely. You're seventeen if you're a day, and that's past the age for learning a new trade."

I interrupted him, muttering, "I'm not that old. I'm only just turned sixteen."

He grinned again, acknowledging my irritation. "Are you sure your parents don't have a husband waiting for you?" He started ladling stew into his empty mug.

A sudden panic swept over me. What if they did? What if I got to the city and found out that they were marrying me off? My fear must have shown on my face; Shadow paused, eyes searching my face.

"I wasn't serious, Merowyn. I didn't mean to frighten you." He held out his hand for my mug. I handed it to him and pushed myself up off the ground. Once standing, I picked up my bedroll and cloak and stared down at him.

"I'm not frightened. And I'm not hungry--I think I'll just sleep." He started to protest, changed his mind, and nodded once. I rolled up in my blankets at what I figured was a safe distance away from him and drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

I had terrible dreams all through that night. I woke, over and over, the tiniest sounds making me jump and tremble, every nerve raw and on edge. Each time I woke, Shadow's eyes were on me.

The last dream was the worst. I was fleeing from some creature I couldn't see, a nightmare animal of teeth and red eyes that pursued me through the deep woods. I ran, but felt like I was bogged down in mud for all the speed I made. I thrashed awake, clawing at the tangled bedroll that had wrapped around my upper body as I slept. Shadow watched as I struggled out of the blankets and huddled, shaking and panting, by the fire.

"Do you always dream like that?" His voice startled me; he was closer to me than I realized, crouching beside me. I shook my head, raking my sweaty, tangled hair off my face with a trembling hand.

"No. Not since I was a child. I used to have the worst nightmares when I was four or five. My mother told me hardly a night would go by that I wasn't screaming and crying and rambling on about monsters. It just stopped, and I haven't had them since." I knew I was babbling but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I needed to hear a voice, even if it was my own, anything to push back the night a little. He gripped my shoulder unexpectedly; he was steady, his touch as reassuring as my father's. He held my shoulder for several minutes, then pushed me gently toward my blankets.

"You should try to sleep a little more. There are a couple of hours left before dawn, and we have a long day ahead of us."

~***~

  
  


He was right. The next day was, if it was at all possible, even longer than the first day. By the time we stopped for the night I was so exhausted I couldn't stay awake long enough to eat. I fell asleep sitting up by the fire, before dinner was finished, and had to be shaken awake the next morning.

After a few days, I began to adjust to the pace and the rhythms of riding, and I was not so sore in the evenings. Shadow seemed relieved once I started eating again, but I wasn't convinced that he wasn't only concerned about the possible loss of pay. 

The road through the great forest was little more than a trail, a pale dirt track barely visible among the trees. Shadow told me that the forest was called Mirkwood but that the Elves that lived in it called it something else. He told me about those Elves, that they were fierce and warlike and often harassed travelers from one edge of the forest to the other. Their king, Thranduil, lived in a vast hall of stone buried deep inside a mountain cave; Shadow had not seen the hall himself, but his friend-the one who spoke Elvish-had. As for Shadow, he thought we'd be luckiest if we didn't see any Elves on our journey. I secretly hoped we would.

We were a little more than two days from the western edge of the forest when my wish was granted. We had stopped briefly; my horse stumbled over a root and started limping, and Shadow was worried that she had lamed herself. I stretched out under a tree while he poked and prodded at Gwenn's legs, searching for wounds. I must have drowsed a little, because I never heard the Elves approach. The first hint I had that something was amiss was a cold, sharp pressure at the base of my throat.

"Do not move, lady. It would be a shame to mar such a face." The voice was as cold as the pricking at my neck.

I opened my eyes slowly, willing myself not to jump or jerk at all. I had fallen asleep propped against the tree and was now pinned against the rough bark by a nocked arrow. I gasped slightly as I stared up the length of the arrow into a pair of deep blue eyes that regarded me as coolly as my Gram eyed potatoes at the market. His face was stony, a mask of threat and impassive judgement; I felt like a small child caught trespassing in a particularly cranky neighbor's yard. 

I glanced at Shadow out of the corner of my eyes. Evidently he had not been caught napping like me; he was on his feet, hands spread unthreateningly but still wary. His eyes slid back and forth between the three dark-haired archers surrounding him and me. I caught his glance; he shook his head at me, a tiny motion to reassure me but not startle our captors.

  
  


"You trespass on the lands of Thranduil of the Greenwood Realm." The largest of the three archers around Shadow stepped forward to address him. I could feel my hands trembling as I fought to keep my composure. The fair Elf scrutinized me closely, his eyes sharp and searching; he seemed to find something about me interesting, and his close examination made me blush uncomfortably even as I became more afraid.

Shadow spoke, his voice clear and even despite the arrows at his chest. "We meant no offense, my lords. We are merely passing through these woods; I have a commission to deliver this lady to the Last Bridge. We will be clear of your realm two days hence."

The dark archer shook his head. "Intentional or no, you have strayed away from the Forest Road without permission of King or Guard. Long have we permitted Men to travel our woods unmolested, provided the boundary of the Road is observed. There are penalties for disobedience."

Shadow's face creased slightly; the flash of worry on his face made me even more anxious than I already was. "My lord, I pray you forgive our ignorance--"

"Her ignorance, perhaps." The fair Elf nudged my chin with his arrow, increasing the pressure on my throat. "You, however, have no recourse to such a plea. I have seen you in the Forest too often to believe you were unaware of our laws." 

Shadow nodded cautiously. "You are correct, my lord. These are strange times, and there are strange creatures about. I preferred to avoid any trouble by staying off the road."

The fair Elf spoke again. "It seems you have miscalculated, Ranger." I wasn't sure, but I could have sworn he sounded amused. I was too busy trying not to weep from sheer nerves, a battle I was quickly losing.

"I offer most humble apologies, Highness. I will gladly pay whatever price you and your men demand." Shadow sounded defeated; I slid my eyes toward him, but my view was blocked by one of the other archers. The first archer studied Shadow at length, his eyes occasionally flicking to my face.

"And which life will you offer, Ranger? For death is the penalty for violating our borders."

I cursed inwardly as I felt the first tear gather and slide down my cheek. I blinked rapidly, struggling to clear my eyes and only succeeding in squeezing more tears out. I was trembling violently by that time, my breathing shallow and rapid, my head curiously light. The fair Elf narrowed his eyes at me; he seemed puzzled by my tears. I wondered if Elves did not cry or display fear.

Shadow was talking, just out of my range of sight, arguing with the guards. I clenched my fists until my nails cut into my palms. The fair Elf glanced quickly at the others. Shadow's voice grew steadily more agitated; although I could not hear what he was saying, he seemed to be incredibly upset. He stepped toward me, but as he came into my line of sight, one of the dark archers shoved him against a tree. The others tightened their grip on their arrows, ready to shoot.

"Stop! Do not hurt him!" The Sindarin burst out of my mouth before I could stop myself. The fair Elf swayed slightly, startled. I turned my eyes to him again, directing my speech toward him, assuming him to be the leader.

"Please. Truly, we meant no harm and no offense. This man is in my father's employ, and so I take responsibility for his actions. If we have broken your laws, I will pay the penalty." 

The fair Elf stared at me still, amazed. "How do you come to speak our language?"

I swallowed hard before answering. "My mother taught me. She thought it might be useful some day."

He nodded curtly. "Do you understand that a life must stand forfeit for your crimes?"

Suddenly, I felt terribly light-headed. What had I gotten myself into? He waited, watching me closely, gauging my reaction to his words. I took a deep breath.

  
  


"Yes. I understand." I paused, my thoughts racing. "Will you let him go, if I stand the forfeit?"

The fair Elf lowered his bow, easing the arrow away from my throat. I rose unsteadily until I could face him directly. His dark blue eyes pierced into me; I couldn't look away from him, but the coldness in them frightened me. He would not hesitate to kill me, of that much I was sure. I felt a brief twinge of regret that I would never see the great city my mother loved so much; my eyes clouded with tears at the thought of my mother. I blinked rapidly again, forcing the tears back down.

The Elf spoke to his companions in a dialect or tongue that I couldn't follow, conferring rapidly amongst themselves. The others nodded and lowered their own weapons. He turned back to me, his face softer than before, but no less serious.

"You would give your life to protect a man you hardly know?" I nodded slowly. "You are very brave, for a human, and very generous."

He slung his bow over his shoulder, motioning to the others. In one quick, fluid motion, the other archers melted back into the forest. The fair Elf watched them go, then bowed to me, a short, mocking yet still elegant movement.

"Perhaps your bravery should be rewarded, for now. Do not forget that you were spared this day- a time may come when you must pay this debt."

I levered myself to my feet as he moved away into the forest. "To whom do I owe repayment, my lord? That I may know when the time comes."

He smiled, a flash of sunlight under the dark trees. "I am Legolas, son of Thranduil. And you are Merowyn. You and your companion have free passage. See that you are clear of our lands by sunset two days hence."

He darted into the treeline while I was still gaping in surprise. My knees went weak with reaction, and I sank against the trunk of the tree, shaking even harder than before. I couldn't stop the tears that poured down my face; my breath caught in my throat in terrible sobs. Suddenly, strong arms were around me, pulling me against a broad chest. I turned my face into Shadow's shoulder and wept like a child.

He le me cry myself out, holding me until I could compose myself again. Pushing me gently to arm's length, he studied my face with troubled eyes.

"What happened, Merowyn? My Elvish is poor- what passed between you?"

I shook my head, scrubbing the tears from my eyes. "I don't know. I offered to stand the forfeit. I don't know if he was amused or annoyed or impressed, but they're going to let us go. We have to be out of the forest in two days. Can we do that?"

"It'll be a hard ride, that's certain, but we'll be able to make it. Is that all he said?" Shadow seemed suspicious, and perhaps he was rightly so. The more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed, that the band of Elves had left with little more than a promise and a subtle threat. Their behavior didn't match what I'd been told of Elves, and I wondered if we'd be ambushed or attacked in our sleep.

I shook my head, uneasy with the lie even as I spoke it. "No. That's all he said. Just to be out in two days."

Shadow nodded slowly, then turned back to the horses.


	4. Chapter Four

The rest of the ride was incredibly hard. I knew it would be more difficult than the previous days, but I didn't realize that, to cross the vast forest in so short a time, we would have to ride almost without stopping. We pushed the horses as hard as we dared and ourselves even harder, until even the fine bones of my hands screamed in anguish. Shadow was nervous and terribly alert, constantly scanning the trees and underbrush as if he too expected to be attacked at any moment. We passed other travelers on the way, a caravan of Gondorian merchants laden with ale from the Lakemen and wool from the low plains, a pair of horsemen from Rohan looking as suspicious and guarded as Shadow, and a group of young noblewomen who giggled and simpered when Shadow glanced in their direction. I noticed that his eyes followed them but that his expression was different than when we spoke; he looked suddenly like a farmer appraising a prize-winning sow. I wasn't sure if the look was meant to be flattering, but the girls seemed to like it, for they giggled harder, and one of them-a dark haired girl with heavy-lidded dark eyes-- twiddled her fingers in his direction. He grinned at her, a wolfish look I didn't think I liked, but didn't approach her.

When we stopped that evening for a short rest, I worked up the nerve to ask him about the women we had passed. He was, I think, surprised by my question; at first, he didn't remember them at all. As he recollected, a whisper of the same grin slipped across his face.

"Oh, them? They're from Osgiliath- you'll probably see them again. The dark-haired one's brother is an old friend of mine, a guardsman in the palace."

"That's why she knew you then? And waved?" I knew I was being nosey, but I couldn't help asking.

He glanced at me, curious. "I know her, aye. I doubt that's why she waved, though. Her brother and I are not so close that I would count her among my better acquaintances."

I could see him waiting for my reaction. I tried to keep my face still as I kept prying into his private life. I turned to stripping the tack off Gwenn and examining it for weakening seams.

"Why would she go to the trouble of waving if you're not her friend? Is this customary in the city?"

He laughed suddenly, a pleasant sound that was still somewhat condescending. "So many questions you ask. I swear I've never met a woman so curious. If you must know, she wants my attention because her parents don't approve- she's a right little slattern and keeps her brother on the hop, fending off all the guardsmen and Rangers and servants she finds to scandalize the family."

I busied myself picking at the fraying seam of one of my reins. "Is that what gentlewomen are supposed to be like?" 

I couldn't look at him; I was afraid he'd laugh at me. Truth be told, I was terrified that he'd say that's how all gentlewomen behaved, that somehow I'd be expected to priss and simper and flirt with men. I didn't know how to do that- I'd never wanted to catch the fancy of any of the boys in the village.

"Should they behave in such a way? I'd say not, but then things rarely are what they ought to be. Most of those highborn ladies want to catch the richest man they can for a husband and figure they can have their fun as well, as long as no one catches them at it." His voice was more serious now, not laughing at all.

"Merowyn. You're worried, but I'm not sure why." The statement hung in the air; I could have let it go, I suppose.

I sighed, feeling my hands start to tremble again. "I don't know how to act proper. I can't do that, I can't be like those girls. I don't know how. What if I don't fit in? What if they think I'm simple or if I embarrass them?"

I felt one of his strong hands rest on my shoulder. He sighed, a deep gusty breath that ruffled my hair.

"Don't worry so much about being like those girls. You'll be better off if you try to be as little like them as possible. They're noble, but they're not respectable. None of them has a grain of sense, and I doubt they have the intelligence to make tea. All those girls are is pretty and wealthy, and that's all the men who look at them see."

"And I'm not either, so who's ever going to look at me?" I was shocked by the bitterness in my voice; I hadn't realized until the words popped out that I was deeply unhappy. At the same time, I was horribly ashamed of having complained, mortified by the tears running down my face.

The hand on my shoulder tightened; Shadow firmly tugged me around to face him. With a gentleness I would never have expected, he wiped the tears off my cheeks with a soft cloth. He patted my cheek and chucked me under then chin playfully.

"Stop fretting. You have nothing to worry about- you're a lovely girl, and smart to boot."

I shook my head; never in my life had anyone called me pretty. I didn't believe him, and I told him as much. He smiled again, somewhat sadly, and touched my face almost tenderly.

"You are beautiful, Merowyn. Whether you believe it or not- and I can't see why anyone would say you weren't. If you were older, I'd be-"

He broke off suddenly, a queer expression on his face. His brow creased as he gazed into my face; he shook himself and turned back to the horses.

"We need to get moving. We don't have much time left."


	5. Chapter Five

His unspoken words picked at my brain for the rest of the ride. I'd never been looked at quite that way before; it wasn't the same way he looked at the noblewomen we passed, but it wasn't the looks I got from most of the village boys. It frightened me, a little, but was also somehow pleasing. I wondered if all the men in the City were like this, if I would have to get used to being looked at in strange ways.

I thought about what my Gram said to me once, when the village miller started visiting. She told me that he was wanting to marry me, that he was "negotiating" with Papa. I didn't like the miller; he was big and heavy and always had grain grit under his fingernails. I was still working at the inn then, and I knew that he came into the tavern every night and drank until we closed. I also knew that he flirted with the other tavern girls, and one of them told me that he used to go home and beat his wife, until she died having their first child. I knew from seeing it that he beat his dog and his horses, and no matter how rich he was, Papa had always told me not to trust a man that treated his animals poorly.

I told Gram that I thought he was cruel and selfish, and that I wouldn't marry him even if Papa agreed. She told me then that I'd be lucky to have him.

"You'd better take him, girl. There's no one else in this village that would have you, considering."

She wouldn't say considering what, but the impression I got from her was that I wasn't quite up to scratch. I didn't marry the miller, obviously, but I never really forgot that no one asked me what I wanted. As I got a little older and the other village girls started to marry off, I realized that women weren't involved in that decision. I watched the pretty girls I knew marry the shopkeepers' sons, while the plain girls married wealthy widowers who needed someone to care for their children and houses.

I remembered, then, Shadow's comment about marriage. Perhaps my parents had sent me away in order to marry; if Gram was right, there wasn't much selection at home. Maybe what Mama really wanted was to make sure I got a good husband. I wished, for the thousandth time in the last week, that I had pressed her more closely before I left.


	6. Chapter Six

We broke out of the treeline just before sunset on the second day. I felt as if an immense weight had lifted from my shoulders; even Shadow looked less strained. As we drew away from the forest, I glanced back over my shoulder out of habit. I wasn't as startled as I expected to be when I saw the Elf Legolas standing at the edge of the forest, watching us leave. He raised one hand in something that might have been a farewell; I lifted my own hand in return as he melted back into the trees.

~***~

  
  


We arrived at the Last Bridge earlier than we had planned; the forced ride through the Forest had cut half a day's journey from the trip. There was a small settlement on the far shore of the great river, more a resting place for travelers than an actual village. Shadow planned to cross the bridge to the settlement and make sure that I was well settled before continuing on his own journeys. As we crossed the bridge, I was lost in thought and so didn't notice anything amiss until Shadow reined his horse in hard.

I nearly allowed Gwenn to collide with his horse before drawing her up short. I glanced around me, confused by the sudden stop.

"What? What is it?" 

He waved at me, an irritated gesture that silenced me at once. He pointed across the bridge toward the settlement. 

"Trouble."

The settlement was gone. Here and there, we could see the ruins of a tent or pavilion, still in flames. A thick pillar of smoke rose from the center of the encampment; I assumed the heavier flames came from a wooden structure of some kind. As we drew closer, a terrible stench washed over me; I gagged and quickly wrapped the skirt of my hood around my face and nose. Shadow's face grew more and more grim as we rode. We left the bridge, the horses' hooves thudding on scorched and bloodied turf. 

The field around the encampment was littered with the bodies of horses and livestock. A pile of sheep carcasses smoldered and reeked beside a string of pack mules still harnessed together with rope. The first human bodies were scattered throughout the animal carcasses. 

The slaughter seemed entirely random to me; there appeared to be no pattern to the people slain, nor to the way in which the bodies lay. I saw dozens of bodies, adults and children both, merchants and travelers of all descriptions. Shadow slid off his horse to examine the bodies more closely.

I stayed on horse, deeply shaken by the carnage. I had seen dead things before, slaughtered livestock and accidental or natural deaths, but nothing like this level of violence. I felt physically ill, my stomach rolling in slow loops. I gathered my cloak around me, the soft warmth reassuring me. I urged Gwenn next to Shadow, as close as possible without interfering with his investigation.

"What happened?" My voice shook slightly; I hoped he wouldn't notice that my hands were also shaking under the edges of my robe.

He glanced up at me, then turned back to the body he was examining. He knelt by the dead merchant and tugged at a long arrow protruding from the man's chest. I looked away, struggling not to faint as the arrow pulled free with a wet, sucking sound. Shadow turned the arrow in his fingers, running the fletching across his palm, weighing it carefully. He faced me, his eyes flinty and hard to read.

"You hunt. Tell me, what do you see?" He handed the arrow to me.

I turned it over in my hands as he had done. I noticed a curious weight to the arrow, the unsmoothed angles of the shaft unlike those that I had seen before. My own hunting arrows were large, meant for bringing down deer, but this arrow was nearly half again the length of my arm and as heavy as three of my own arrows together. The point was a wicked triple triangle sharpened to a needle's point; I could think of no game that needed such a weapon. I handed the arrow back to him, quickly scrubbing my fingers on my cloak to wipe off the blood and fluids.

"I wouldn't use it. It looks like it would bring down an oliphant, and it's clumsy besides." 

His lips twisted in a wry smile. "Seen one before?"

"The arrow, or an oliphant? Neither."

"You're lucky if you've never seen such an arrow. They're Orc arrows, meant for killing men, not game. The tracks are fresh enough that I think we'd best get out of the area quickly." He swung back onto his horse and gathered the reins. I hesitated.

"What about the caravan I'm supposed to meet? Shouldn't we wait, or leave some warning? They're expecting me to be here when they arrive."

He pointed toward a burning pavilion. A long banner, marred with soot but still intact, snapped and waved from one of the upright poles. I could see the silver tree of Gondor embroidered on the soiled fabric.

"It looks like they were here already. Let's go- it's getting dark, and I'd rather not meet these creatures without the light of day."


	7. Chapter Seven

We fled southeast from the bridge, leaving the flat river plain behind us. The scenery changed subtly as we rode, from the dark shades of fertile farmland to rocky outcroppings and scrub grass. We stopped to rest in the small hours of the morning, when Shadow felt we had put enough distance between ourselves and the settlement.

I flung myself off the horse, exhausted and out of temper from the hard pace. Shadow slumped onto the ground beside me, sprawling full length in the cool grass. The horses, untethered, milled about in the long grass beside the road.

I stretched out on the ground, determined to get some sleep before we had to remount. I was almost asleep when Shadow's voice startled me awake again.

"Are you well?" The tones were neutral, unmarked by emotion or concern.

I sat up to unfasten the cloak from my shoulders. "I suppose. Tired and a little sore, but otherwise fine."

"Did it shock you, seeing those people?" His voice was more pointed now.

I thought about the question as I spread my cloak on the ground and wadded up my hood for a pillow. I rolled myself up in the makeshift bedroll before answering.

"It did. Especially the children." I rolled so that I wasn't facing him. I knew he had witnessed such violence before, and I wanted to be stronger than I felt in front of this man who seemed to be unmoved by the days' events.

"You handled yourself well. It bothers me also. I fear, lady, that we will see much more, and much worse, before we reach Osgiliath." 

"When we will arrive in the city?" I couldn't hide the anxiety in my voice; I badly wanted the journey to be over, even if it was among people I didn't know. My fears about fitting in and being accepted suddenly seemed silly.

"We're not heading directly for Osgiliath. My friend, the one who speaks Elvish- I need to speak with him. He might know more about what the Orcs are doing."

I frowned, a movement lost in the early morning shadows. "I thought Orcs always did this sort of thing. Where are we going, instead of Osgiliath?"

He sighed hollowly. "I've never seen Orcs venture so far north, so far from Mordor. Something must be afoot, and Strider will know what it is."

"So where are we going then?" I repeated.

"Rivendell. He is staying with the Elves. I need to see him, and you will be safer there than on the road. We don't want to draw any undue attention to ourselves."

I puzzled over his remarks until I fell asleep.


End file.
